First of all, a great thank you needs to be said to /u/Nomidin! Thank you for your time as House Arryn and good luck with whatever you decide to do!

With that said, we are now opening applications for the next claimants of house Arryn. Applications will remain open for at least 48 hours. As a reminder, 'placeholder' comments and any jokes/non-application comments will be removed.

Here are the application questions:

Why do you want this claim (what inspires you about it) and what would you bring to it?

How qualified are you to play House Arryn and occupy the role of a Great House?

How equipped are you to take a leadership role not just in-character, but also out-of-character with a higher standard of activity found here and engagement?

Since there is no teleportation ban, this letter is sent to Moat Cailin and from there, I presume GWW.

Jonos of House Reed, Lord of Greywater Watch

I once more thank you for your gift and would like to extend one of my own. I wish to invite a member of your House or bannermen to my holdfast to help tutor me in order to raise and train my lizard lion. I will give them a room to stay in and warm meals to feed on, access to my court and coin for their service at fifteen gold dragons for each year.

My sister is delighted with her gift but does not have the same notion of hatching her own and has kept it as a memento in her solar.

Our King has extended the honor to Summerhall to offer a betrothal between House Targaryen and House Greyjoy. If you are wanting, the Lady Gwyneth Greyjoy and our Prince Syrax Targaryen are of the more or less the same age, with Syrax being born in the 7th month of the year 206 AC. Syrax is my youngest brother and is excited at the prospect of growing accustomed to the Iron Islands. I took him out on his first boat ride around Blackwater Bay before we left the Capital and he is still grinning about it.

We will be staying the Winter in Summerhall, perhaps once the season has passed we might gather in King's Landing to discuss the possibility of this matrilineal union in person?

With their business in Storm's End resolved and a decent solution for how to perform the rites for their fallen grandfather still eluding them Jocelyn, Davos, and Tyana found themselves outside the walls of Blackhaven seeking entry.

Yeah. So I seriously hate to drop this on my remaining Valefriends and the people who are in RPs with me now, but..

It's clear that I’m not able to revive the Vale’s activity and frankly I’m not active or motivated enough myself to occupy such a great and important claim. It’s certainly been fun here, and Arryn and the Vale as a whole are in a super interesting situation right now, but I think it’s best for someone else to continue from here. Thanks for the opportunity anyhow and thanks to the rest of the Vale claimants for the nice two months. Ly.

As the sun faded away, down crept kisses of winter tears against her window pane. As her fingers etched against the glass like a quill to parchment, she felt the frozen lips of winter at her fingertips. It was so cold at night that it could even take a man or woman’s breath away, that the Old Gods beckoned down their anguish to those who had to burden the cold.

The old were not so lucky, as were the children and homeless. All were the most likely to die and one of them was clutched within her arms, nursing from her mother.

Mother, to think of those words and to feel a child within her arms it was… frightening. A sudden trembling befell her, though not from lack of warmth but lack of might. For while she believed in herself, a small measle did not. The same doubting tone and angered voice lingered inside her and told her that she would never be good enough.

Gently, she sighed to herself before noticing a distant torchlight from the Wolfswood slowly fade to nothingness. The wind hissed and the wolves howled as she closed the shutters and turned to the door. She knew that her brother was in Winterfell for the wedding of the new Lord Stark but was hundreds of miles away, his first niece was enveloped in her slender arms.

A boy of four-and-ten name days was soon to be an Uncle of two… A part of her was still angered with Rodrik for to live in winter was already a risk. To have a child in winter was another but to have two in a short time… that was risking even more.

Gently washing her daughter in her arms like a boat against a weak ocean tide, she looked down on Donella and smiled with her mother’s raven black hair and her father’s green glistening eyes.

Three days after the calling of the council of the Northern Lords, the trial was to be held in the great hall. Lord Karl had some things to attend to before it commenced, however, and so he was awake early in the morning, dressed in a sharp and thick white cloak, his blue eyes shining in contrast.

Two years my brother has lived under your castle. I would first like to know what he has learned during his time in the south. I will soon be considering matches on his behalf and ask if any suitors worthy of his hand in marriage have met with him or spoken to yourself on this matter.

Though hundreds of leagues part ways between us, I would like to know how my brother is doing.

Septon Gren had ignored his duty for far to long, that he knew, the Seven had so long ago willed him to begin converting the people of Lordsport, and it was time that their will be at last carried out. The Seven above had so long ago given him a many signs yet, he had so foolishly ignored them, no longer that! Today was the Day, opening his sept doors, he walked out onto the Streets of Lordsport. His White and Blue robes fluttering due to the early wind, the book of the Seven in hand, making his way down the street.

Surely yes, he would meet foes, those drowned priest and their false god would protest, but before the Seven, they would fall and Convert. The light of the Seven could not be extinguished, by no god, no foreign god or religion would crush the true Faith! That he was sure about as he made his way down the streets towards one of the more busy parts of the settlement. He wanted to get as many to listen to him, and the will of the Seven, for it was the true word of the true gods.

After finally making his way to one of the busier parts of the settlement, Gren quickly looked around before finding an a slab of stone to stand on and getting up on it. After a moment longer, he began looking around and then exclaimed. "People of Lordsport! Hear me! Hear me and gather around, for i have a message to deliver to you which for so many years has gone unspoken!"

"Gather around, so I may enlighten the world upon the will of the Heavens above and their subjects down on earth! The Seven above, holy they are, and now I must gather you around to speak about the true will of the gods, Children of the Gods! Gather around and hear me speak!"

"And you should really be trying better to keep a blade out of your gut. Take me to Preston." The Castellan of Summerhall commanded as she dismounted her horse and motioned for the drunkard to lead the way with a short wave of her hand.

1st Month, 413 AC

To Starfish Harbor.

Lord Loras of the House Rhysling, Lord of Starfish Harbor,

Goodfather,

Times have been busy and winter draws down on us, but I have not forgotten family. When the Rowan family has returned from King's Landing for the Prince's wedding tourney, I would like to arrange a small family gathering at Starfish Harbor.

I confess that ever since Three Towers, House Rowan has been hesitant to even dip a toe into the Southern Reach- after Ser Daemon's letter, for good reason, it would appear. However, I would like this to change and to survey the climate of the Southern Reach in person.

If you are inclined, I should be available after the 8th or 9th Month, depending on how the roads are.

Ser Bryce had informed the Lysene on their new companions lodging, so he had made his way there with a spring in his step. Sometimes, residing inside of Maegor's Holdfast was oppressive to a man so accustomed to traveling. Yet, he had to admit, that longing to explore had been tamed for a while now. Lysander had matured greatly in the past ten years. He'd settled down, he'd bore children, he'd reconciled with his family, and he'd made a home for himself. Things that he never thought would matter to him had suddenly been the most important things in his life. Even still, with all of those obligations, he longed to leave it all behind and venture out into the unknown like he had done so long ago.

That is why Crabby was such an enticing figure to him. A memory from his past made flesh. Fate had such a funny way of playing with him. The man was an instant kindred spirit, and Lysander wished to reminisce with him again. Only a fellow sellsword from Essos could relate to the things he had been through.

Walking through the city made the old man feel alive again. He breathed in the night air, feeling the freedom and excitement it presented. There was a time when he first arrived that the overwhelming stench of the city disgusted him. These days, it smelt like home... which was rather unfortunate when he thought long about it.

Arriving at the porch of a brightly lit inn, Lysander knocked his shoes on the steps and entered the tavern entrance. He walked to the innkeep and asked him to fetch the man known as "Crabby" for him, and give him a drink while he waited.

A raven flies from the rookery of Sisterton and across the Bite before reaching it's destination in White Harbor.

Lord Willem Manderly,

Allow me to first apologize for my absence in Winterfell for the wedding of your sister to Lord Stark. Unfortunately a severe sickness kept me bedridden and unable to leave Sunderland Hall until only recently.

I still fully intend to follow through with our agreement however, despite my inability to weather the winter and travel to White Harbor even now. I have two daughters aged sixteen and seven and both unbetrothed. Should either be a proper match for one of your own then arranging the ceremony should be no issue at all.

"What should we do," Cerenna mused one night, late into the dark when the entire castle was asleep, "If we are caught?"

She was curled against Cerion's side, propped up by one elbow so she could hover half over him, blanket flowing down her back like a cape. Her nails dragged idly along his chest, the healthy white curve of them drawing pink lines against his skin, like color down a canvas. It was a trait she attributed to his ginger hair. Redheads so easily burned and bruised and flushed, even more than the rest of their blonde relatives.

They had discussed it before - the what to do - but never with any real sense of urgency. It was a concern that lacked immediate danger. Now, however, for a reason Cerenna could not quite place, the thought weighed heavily on her. Perhaps it was how Ciena and Leila had married first, and now eyes had turned to her, wondering why she, the eldest, had yet to do the same.

Or perhaps it was how her mother had been gazing at her recently; narrow-eyed and thoughtful. Cerenna thought she might have seen disapproval in the set of her mother’s mouth when the lady observed them, their lingering closeness at feasts, and that raised Cerenna’s hackles like nothing else. Her possessive nature reared its head.

She’d be damned if she let anybody take Cerion away from her. Not strangers, not their family, not even Cerion himself. Cerenna knew, as surely as she knew anything else in her life, that there would be no Cerenna without Cerion. He was part of her, a necessary component. Her love for him was-- all-encompassing. It was dark and hungry, it was the fires of passion and the fury of the storm and the coolness of water, gentle and affectionate and honest and giving, and greedy, grasping, the largest thing she had ever known. She was no poet, she knew, but she could feel it, what they shared -- the pull of their wake, the drag, the heavy gravity of them.

What would I do without him?

She couldn’t fathom it. They had never been apart, never, not in all their years of living. Though the idea that could forcibly change was not a foreign one at this point, it remained a prospect as untenable and unacceptable as it had been the day her six year old self had cried in his arms about Lyle, and Cerion had sworn with his tight embrace to never let her go.

What would he do without me?

An urge rose like a wild beast in her chest, tugging at the unraveling spool of her self control. It didn’t matter that they had just finished, laying spent in bed. Suddenly, she felt the desire anew to mark him; to leave a bruise in the shape of her teeth, a claim on his skin so that anyone who looked at him would know he belonged to her, and belonged thoroughly at that. So she bent over and mapped out his throat with her tongue and mouth, over the tendon that showed starkly when his head threw back, until she was satisfied he would have to wear a scarf or high-collared tunic to hide the ensuing hickey.

“We could run away. Or something more drastic. Elope under their noses. Put a child in my belly. Make a play and force their hand,” she murmured against his skin, pulling back just slightly to admire her handiwork. Her fingers traced slowly down his side. “Would you move mountains for me, Ceri?”

Cerion’s hands snaked up to grip her backside, abruptly rolling them over, and a startled punch of laughter escaped her from the sudden movement.

“I would level the mountains of the moon for you, Cerei,” His voice was husky and low, eyes hot. He pressed down on her from above. “I would level this mountain for you.”

His words hit her like a hunger pang, hooking right behind her navel, and Cerenna’s laugh died with a hitch of breath.

She had attacked Uncle Damon in a fit of rage for belittling and beating Cerion, and when Cerion had learned what happened to her first kiss, well. All of their firsts belonged to each other except that one, and in his anger he had nearly killed Jorah for taking it.

If someone tried to take her-- Cerenna knew Cerion as no others did. She knew he held the potential for unmatched ruthlessness inside him, at a seeming dichotomy with his mild mien. That ruthlessness stemmed from Uncle Damon, she was sure, part nature and part nurture both. And he wouldn’t hesitate to use that cunning against the man who had taught it to him in the first place. The thought, somehow, made her flush deeper than she had before.

Cerion’s attention flickered to her parted lips, before he stole her response with a fierce kiss that curled her toes, leaving the conversation forgotten, and that was that.

For some time, anyway.

They had taken to letting down their guard as of late, coming together in the numerous sitting rooms or never-tread halls of their cavernous home. Time had its way of sneaking past all defenses; the longer they went without a soul capable or willing to stop them, the more confident they became. Perhaps it was a failure of their age, or a failure of their status, as neither Lannister had truly been denied a thing they wanted in their life.

Yet when they were caught, a scant few months later, it wasn’t dramatically by Uncle Damon, or a guard or a servant, spotting them in the throes of the act in a place they shouldn’t be. It was the two of them together, in her room as they had been countless times before, atop the mattress, Cerenna’s face flushed, Cerion breathing heavily over her. For a long moment, they just rested there in the gentle pressure where their bodies were touching, with Cerion’s breath tickling Cerenna’s skin and Cerenna’s thighs closing in ever so slightly against Cerion’s hips.

One winter's day, when the snow was falling in lazy flurries, a rider arrived at the gates of Lannisport. He sat easily in the saddle, a sword buckled upon his hip, reins entangled around a gloved hand. Furs were heaped around his shoulders, enshrouding his slender body, hiding the tunic and mail shirt that he wore. His face was thin, the bones of his cheeks and jaw prominent, his nose sharp and angular; a scar creased one cheek, red in the cold, and his eyes were quick, keen and blue. His hair fell in cheerful disarray around his face.

'Oleander Oakheart,' He called to the guardsmen on the gates. His voice was low and lilting. 'Here to seek the service of Lord Lannister!'

Excited to join the game after a long while lurking. Look forward to rping with you all!

Brief Character Bios:

Lord Medger Forrester-
An old but handsome man in his youth, Lord Medger is among the last of the dying Old Guard of the North. He has largely remained aloof from politics during the rebellion, mourning the loss of Martyn Forrester to the GSS.

Rogar Forrester-
The heir of Ironrath and a friendly man. He is currently unmarried (retconning the Bloodaxe stuff, user went inactive pretty fast so idk where he was going with that) and in White Harbour doing business with the Manderly’s.

Myranda Forrester-
Wife of Finan Reed. A sharp mouthed woman, and fiery, her character is still very underdeveloped.

Belthasar Snow-
Bloodwood. Sadist bastard of Martyn Forrester. Without his father to reign him in, who knows what he will do.

Cregan Forrester-
An old man and uncle to Lord Medger, he stands on the brink of death after years of providing steady counsel to the ruling Forresters. His death would be a sore loss to the House.

Intrigues and Diplomacy:
House Reed- Myranda is married to Finan Reed, Medger was angered to hear of his friend Cinnead’s demise.

House Glover- Our overlords and kidnapping victims (going to retcon that as well as it doesn’t make sense with the inactivity of the initiator)

House Whitehill- Bitter enemies, relations are better yet still tense with Lord Gryff. Rogar is less inclined towards reconcilition then Medger, however.

House Stark- Our lord’s lords, House Forrester has being deeply entangled with House Stark for many years.

House Manderly- A trade deal is in the works (going to fudge the age a bit there but the overall plot still works)

House Bolton- Overlords of rival House Whitehill, relations have been terse for some time

The lady swept into the room, her winter cloak brushing along the ground so slightly. She wore leather vambraces and tunic, for ease of movement. Visenya had taken up her archery with even more enthusiasm, ever since Aeryn had been taken into Lord Brynden's service. One day, the boy would hopefully redeem both his bloodlines in the eyes of the Targaryens. Just as she hoped, to some extent, that she would.

Yet one person who seemed intent on destroying any dreams of redemption was her brother, Aegon. After his attempted escape, he had spent several weeks in the black cells as punishment. Bloodraven had given her permission to speak with him, and so he'd arranged for it. The man was brought to a small and private room, still under heavy guard but at least not in chains. That alone made it much easier for her to talk to him as a brother, not as some chained animal.

"What were you thinking, you fool?" She asked straight away, crossing the room to be face to face with him. Aegon was a good foot taller than she was, all muscle and no brain. Yet she still felt a strong urge to strike him.

The two Targaryen men who held him by the arms did not move as she drew closer.

".. I can not remain here." He muttered beneath his breath. To be chided by his own younger sister was something that cut worse than any blade.

"Not if you keep resisting." She hissed at him, trying to stand tall. "Lord Brynden could easily have you executed. That's what everybody wants. The king included, probably."

"That would be better than this. I am a prisoner. No matter how -"

"Of course you're a prisoner. So am I, really." She then span around, indicating the weirwood bow strung over her shoulder. "Yet I walk free. Lord Brynden gifted me this bow, to practice archery. I attend the court. My son serves as a page for the king's family. Are you surprise that we are prisoners? Did you expect a life of freedom after what father did?"

It sounded very much to Aegon as though his sister had forgotten so much. That their family had been hunted by these people. That their father was imprisoned, still imprisoned, if he hadn't been executed just yet.

"Do you remember swimming in the stream by Brindlewood?" She asked. The sudden change of pace confused Aegon, as much as it likely confused the guards that listened in.

"I .. - What?" He sputtered.

"To go far, and to go fast, you swim with the water. Not against it." She explained it in terms that he would understand. He was extremely strong and brave and more than capable as a warrior, but Aegon was not a thinker. To try and steal a horse and break free from the most secure castle in Westeros was the act of a simpleton.

"To go anywhere, now, you need to move with the king. Not against him. Lord Brynden told me about your last conversation, the one you had a few weeks before your stupid escape." She placed a hand on his shoulder, trying to get some sort of message through to him. Hearing it from someone close would hopefully make it easier than from an apparent enemy.

"He is right. You can still prove yourself. Even now."

Aegon wasn't sure what to say. Something that she said to him rang true. Their father attempted to go against the crown. He was better liked, a better fighter, and wasn't yet labelled as a traitor. Despite all that, him and all his friends had fallen. There was little hope for his heir now, with ten swords on him at all times and no friends to speak of.

"Think about it. Not just what I'm saying now, but everything. Whatever you plan to do, ever, just think about it first." She spoke softly, trying not to patronise. "Always think before you act."

And with that, she left him. Hopefully, at least some of the information had gone in.

Buildings did not often leave Mirielle breathless. Those in the Reach were often too similar to her own home to leave an impression, although she had to admit that the Hightower was impressive. Casterly Rock, however, perched atop dramatic cliffs that plunged into the sea, caught her attention unexpectedly. She and her uncle, Ser Marcel, had been approaching it for the better part of the morning, and Mirielle hadn't been able to take her eyes off of it as they approached the keep. For awhile, her fascination was distraction enough to quell her anxiety at the prospect that she might live there, should today go as her father had hoped.

"It's a bit much, don't you think?" Marcel asked as they drew near to the grand keep of House Lannister. Mirielle rolled her eyes, clicking her tongue in disbelief.

"How could you say something like that? I think it's grand." Marcel dismounted first, gesturing for Mirielle to stay astride her horse. No point in muddying her shoes when she had places to be and people to impress. He approached those guarding the entrance to the keep while Mirielle waited behind him, holding the reins to his horse as well as her own.

"Good morning," he said, stiffly though not rudely. "Ser Marcel Beesbury of the Reach, escorting lady Mirielle Beesbury, here to see lady Myra Lannister, should the lady be receiving visitors."

1st Month, 214 AC

To Coldmoat.

Lord Wyman of the House Webber, Lord of Coldmoat,

My Dear Wyman,

There is planned at King's Landing a great tourney for the Prince Matarys' wedding. I have made plans to visit Grassfield Keep and Ashford Castle before House Rowan departs for King's Landing. This would be a good opportunity for you to meet with your betrothed and to discuss the wedding to take place. Ser Androw is my uncle, a good man, and a reasonable man. You need not be worried, so long as you treat my cousin with the respect she deserves.

I suggest that we travel together, as this will also give you an opportunity to make acquaintance with Lord Davos Meadows, another cousin of mine, who is Lord Justice of the Reach. He is a staunch friend and ally of House Rowan, and we have stood by his side through thick and thin- against all foes. So it would be good for you to meet, and for Webber and Meadows to be familiarized, and to attend the royal tourney afterwards.

With warm regards,

Arthas Rowan

To Standfast.

Ser Eustace Osgrey, Knight of Standfast,

I hope this letter finds you in good health, Ser Eustace. Your service has been, as always, steadfast and commendable, and you have done honor to both yourself and your house.

Now, I do not know your opinion on the Targaren dynasty, but there is planned in a few months at King's Landing a grand tourney to celebrate the wedding of Prince Matarys. House Rowan plans to be in attendance, and also plans to visit with Houses Meadows and Ashfords beforehand.

You and yours are invited to join us, and for the knights of Osgrey to join Rowan in representing the Northmarch as bravely in the capital as they have in battle. Lord Wyman Webber has been invited along to make acquaintances, but there will be no glory reserved for Coldmoat. I hope that in person we may discuss the future of our houses, and our goals that they may align.

The bitterly cold wind, which had been howling for the past few days, had finally died down in Hidden Borrow. This was joyous news to Petyr and Podrick, who had been planning to leave a day earlier but decided to wait for the wind to make a better start to their journey. Even without the wind the valley was still freezing and six inches of snow hid the ground from view. Still, the conditions would only get worse, especially being in the dead of winter.

Podrick gave his brother a stern look as he groggily picked at a bowl of porridge. Petyr had gotten up only a half hour before, even though the sun was but an hour away from it's peak. "We shall need to leave before midday if we are to find a place to sleep before nightfall. Gods know we aren't surviving a night in this weather." Podrick said

Petyr, not looking up from his bowl, said "We'll leave before midday, just give me a few minutes. I'm not quite ready to ride in this cold."

Podrick huffed, but did not continue to press. He knew that pushing him would only push back their departure time even further. He continued to stare however, he couldn't bare to just sit there anymore. He'd been looking forward to this trip, as there wasn't much to be done in Hidden Borrow. One can only hunt so much before they look to other distractions, and in hidden borrow there wasn't much else. While none of the Reynes were currently at Castamere, there was no doubt more news of the realm and perhaps even things that needed to be done. The worst thing about Hidden Borrow wasn't even the remoteness of the place, but how the place seemed to be frozen in time. Nothing new happened, nothing need to be done that wasn't already taken care of by his father. Podrick hated times like this, he felt like he was wasting his life and rotting in inactivity. This trip, he hoped would change that.

By the time Podrick had finished his thought, Petyr had finished his breakfast and stood up, getting ready to make his way to the small stable. "You coming?" Petyr said. Podrick nodded and followed him out the door and into the stable. Thankfully the courtyard had been cleared earlier in the morning so they didn't have to trudge their way through deep snow. They found their two companions, Ser Jaime Laudett and Ser Robert Howden, resting on the straw floor of the stable. Both younger knights of two and twenty and one and twenty respectively, they were younger sons of the other local landed knights who wished to see the world. Travelling is always safer in a group, especially for those with full purse's and who would demand a high ransom.

Jamie looked up at the boys as they walked through the door, "Hey! You boys are finally up. Took you fuckin' long enough; we've been freezing our arses off!"

"Well you know," Podrick said, "Petyr's got to have his beauty sleep."

Petyr shot his brother a look, "You could've left without me, besides the weathers only gotten better with time."

Robert spoke up "Oh shut it, let's just get going. Thank the Gods your horses or ready or it'd take us until evening to leave."

Ilyn looked down at the courtyard from his room. If the truth was to be told, the prospect of his two sons leaving made him feel very little. He would've rather them been brought away from home to make connections in the world, but that had not been an option. It would be good for them to see some of the world outside of Hidden Borrow, and make a connection with their Liege-Lord. After all, the connection will be made now or on the battlefield. Who knows? Without the noise maybe some work could finally get done around here. Ilyn returned to his small desk, mostly sipping on a cup of local beer, tending to the small fire and mulling over the various mines and farms on his estate.

[M] The party of four leave on horseback taking this path, red is the first leg to Castamere, blue is the second leg to Lannisport/Casterly Rock, green is the third leg to Kings Landing. Their theoretical holdfast is Hidden Borrow, the start point, is in a zone 1 winter so they get 1.5x movement costs in zone 1, if I've read the rules correctly. When they get to Castamere they ask to use the rookery to send the following message:

The message parchment is quite thin and rough, as if the writer had scraped and erased multiple times

Lord Robin Reyne, Lord of Castamere >insert every other possible formal title that could be put here<

There is no more for my son, heir, and your future bannerman, to learn here at Hidden Borrow. Which is why I am sending him to you in Kings Landing, at the very least for the journey if you have no need or desire to let him serve at your side. Though I do hope you are willing and able to make use of him, and build good relations as Lord and bannermen should. If possible I would hope you are able to find a knight to squire my second son, Petyr, as his knight has met a tragic fate a few months past. I fear it may be hard with his age and his temperament, but you have a much better chance than I.

**Seven Kingdoms** is a Role-Playing Game based on the universe of _A Song of Ice & Fire_ by George R. R. Martin.
Claim a House and rule over your vassals, or travel the lands as a Hedge Knight or Bard.